there is no end, but addition
by phantomlistener
Summary: After what might just have been the worst day of her life, Martha Costello makes a decision. [Martha/CW; post-series episode tag, with spoilers for the whole show.]


The taxi that drew up outside the upmarket block of flats deposited one passenger and drove promptly away, and Caroline Warwick turned to walk the few feet to the steps up to her flat.

She stopped.

A shadowed figure sat, head in hands, on the steps, white blouse catching the soft glow of the late-night streetlights.

"Martha?"

The figure raised its head, brushed a lock of blonde hair back behind its ear, and replied with a cheerfulness that didn't even try to mask its falsity: "Yup."

"What are you _doing_ here?" CW moved to stand in front of her. "They've been going half frantic trying to find you, you know."

"I know," she said dully. "I just...didn't know where else to come." Her smile was apologetic even if it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not. Of _course_ I don't, Martha." She held up her keys, reached down to giver her a hand up, and if Martha held on just a few moments longer than was technically necessary, until CW had to open the door, then neither of them commented on it. "Come on. Come in."

The flat itself was halfway between order and chaos. Open folders and scattered papers covered half the floor, dotted with ashtrays and empty wine glasses, but the bookshelves were neatly stacked and the table in the corner held nothing but a decanter of clear liquid and a glass.

"Sit," said CW, and Martha slumped on the sofa, head back against the cushions, and closed her eyes as her companion hooked her jacket over the back of a chair.

"Want a drink?" CW poured a generous measure from the decanter into a tumbler and glanced across at where Martha sat silent and unmoving. "It'll make you feel better. Promise."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the vibrating chime of glass against glass as trembling hands allowed the decanter to hit against the full tumbler, and then Martha's voice came soft and tired. "I don't think a drink can fix this."

CW paused, glass halfway to her lips. "No, but it can make it a hell of a lot better."

"Says the alcoholic." Martha's eyes were still closed but her lips curved in an unwilling smile.

"It's the bar, darling. If you're not already an alcoholic then you're on your way to becoming one." She took a sip, sat next to Martha, and kicked off her shoes, holding the drink out. "Change your mind?"

Martha took a gulp and handed it back with a shudder. "God that's strong."

"It wasn't exactly going to be orange juice, now, was it?"

Oddly gentle, she touched her palm to CW's cheek. "You? Never."

"Yeah, well. After today I think we all need a few drinks."

There were a few brief seconds of silence before Martha let her hand fall back down into her lap. She sighed. "Do you...do you realise what Clive's gone and done? What it means - for all of us?"

"I had gathered the basics," CW said dryly.

"He's an idiot." Her voice rose in frustration. "Clive bloody Reader, too busy trying to get in some woman's knickers to to actually think about his actions."

"He's a man, Martha, and men invariably follow their pricks."

She snorted her amusement. "Yeah, but...I don't _prosecute_, and he bloody knows it."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know." She looked away, hands twisting in her lap. "I really don't know."

"I-" CW put her drink aside and reached for Martha's hand. "Martha Costello, you are one of the best Silks I've ever been up against. You could walk into any set of chambers you wanted without so much as a vote against you, and I think you know it. So enough with the bullshit, and tell me what's really going on."

Martha stared at her and would have pulled her hand away but for the reflexive tightening of CW's fingers. "Fine. In the past few days I've lost the most important trial of my life, been _betrayed_ by one of my oldest friends, essentially lost my job, and had to watch Billy get closer and closer to _dying_." Her voice broke over the last few words, and she brushed angrily at her tears. "Is that fucked up enough for you?"

"It'll do."

She choked a laugh through the tears that threatened to escape. "You are so bloody cynical."

CW shook her head and raised a hand to Martha's cheek, gently brushing away a stray tear. "No. No, just honest." For a moment, she held her eyes, but then she dropped her hand, pulling the other from Martha's clasp and finishing her drink in one fluid motion. "I need another one," she said, standing abruptly. "You?"

"Might as well," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Glasses?"

"Kitchen." CW pointed to the closest door. "First cupboard on the left."

After some fumbling for the light switch, Martha grabbed the nearest glass and headed back out into the living room. "Got it."

CW turned and smiled, her fingers brushing deliberately against Martha's as she took it from her. "Wonderful." She arched one perfect eyebrow at Martha's suspicious face. "What?"

"Did you just...are you..." A hint of curiosity - and something else - sparked in her eyes. "Caroline Warwick, are you trying to seduce me?"

She stopped. "And if I were?" She met Martha's gaze with a defiant air, chin up. "What would you say then?"

"I would say that you're the most shameless, amoral, _scheming_ woman I've ever met-" CW looked away- "and that...oh, bugger it." Leaning forward, she kissed her hard on the mouth. "It is _so hot_."

Something akin to relief spread across her face. "And there was me thinking you'd run away as fast as you could."

"Hmmm." Martha smiled, drawing closer to whisper in her ear as if sharing a secret. "You seem to be forgetting who turned up at who's house."

CW choked out a disbelieving laugh, uncharacteristically lost for words. "Have _you_ been trying to seduce _me_?"

"_Finally_ she gets it."

This time the kiss was different, hot, a little desperate, tongues sliding across each other and teeth nipping at lips; one of them sighed into it, a needy, wanting sound that only spurred them on.

Inevitably, predictably, not ten minutes later Martha was kneeling over CW's lap, skirt hitched up to her waist, an intent hand working its way inexorably up her thigh. She fumbled blindly for the buttons on CW's blouse, sliding her hand in to press against soft, warm flesh, and as if in return, the roving hand scratched gentle nails along the hem of her underwear.

She groaned into the kiss and tore her mouth away, dropping kisses down her neck and resting her head on her shoulder. "You're a tease," she complained into her skin.

CW laughed, and the sound sent a delighted shiver down Martha's spine. "Oh, this is nothing. Bedroom?"

Martha smiled. "Bedroom."

The day wasn't over yet, and this part at least was salvageable.


End file.
